


Thy Honest Heart

by DaydreamingofDragons



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Flowers, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5010121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamingofDragons/pseuds/DaydreamingofDragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lazy afternoon together and a more serious conversation than either Dorian or the Iron Bull was anticipating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thy Honest Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post on tumblr: which part of your otp says “if you were a flower, you’d be a damndelion" and which part tells the other "you know a dandelion is a weed, right”
> 
> Originally posted on my tumblr. Title from the poem 'To a Dandelion' by Helen M Johnson. Unbetaed, if you spot any mistakes point them out and I'll fix them.

The breeze drifted a leaf across Dorian's face and briefly brought him the scent of wood smoke and the low murmur of voices from the nearby camp. He batted at the leaf with an irritated gesture but didn't bother opening his eyes. He still didn't when the sound of footsteps coming closer eventually penetrated his relaxation. He recognised the step, the slight hitch it in from too many days and too many giants without an adequate break. Besides, only one person in their company stomped like that, despite being able to move almost silently when he wished to. The fact that he was making the effort to be heard spoke volumes to... well to how very far they had come from the days when he had seemed to make it his mission in life to catch Dorian off-guard.

 

The footsteps stopped and Dorian felt a shadow fall across him. “Bull,” he acknowledged quietly.

 

“Dorian,” came the reply. “Enjoying the sun there?”

 

“Yes,” Dorian sighed, stretching in the grass. “It's actually _warm_. I fear it can't last, but I intend to take full advantage of it. Until we're interrupted by giants or another wretched dragon, I suppose.”

 

“Nah, just the one dragon, from the signs.” Dorian swore the Iron Bull sounded disappointed and again questioned his sanity. As well as his own, he supposed, by association. “And the giants don't seem to come south of the river. Think you can bask in peace.”

 

“Expect for rogue qunari, it appears,” Dorian quipped and immediately cursed himself. He was _trying_. To pick his words more carefully, to avoid those that could sting, even in jest or fondness. He relaxed again when the Bull only chuckled. “Bull,” he squinted one eye open and peered up. His breath caught and stuttered because, damn, the Bull made a truly impressive silhouette. “Bull,” he repeated, trying not to sound breathless but suspecting he rather failed. “Bull, you're in my sunlight. Do remove yourself.”

 

That got him another chuckle but the Bull did move, lowering himself to the ground to one side of Dorian with a grunt. Dorian closed his eyes again and tilted his face back into the sunshine, sighing happily. The Bull was probably watching him but his gaze seemed light for once, easy to... not disregard but simply allow to be. The Bull wanted to look and Dorian enjoyed being looked at and that could be enough.

 

Briefly, Dorian considered taking it further. It rarely took more than a suggestion and the Bull had come looking for him, after all. They could slip a little further away from the camp. Perhaps beyond the grove just down the hill. The idea of having the entirety of that massive silhouette over him, pressing him down into the grass and holding him... that was a good thought. A strangely sweet one. But there was something sweet about the quiet too. The soft sound of Bull's breathing, the breeze in the trees and across the grass, the voices from camp and the sunlight. It was peaceful. Dorian, for once, found himself unwilling to disturb it.

 

It was the Bull who finally broke the quiet. “Hey. Hey, Dorian.” Dorian opened his eyes and pushed himself upright. Because he knew that tone of voice. And what came next was guaranteed to be awful and deserving of a severe glare. An expression Dorian knew from experience he could not adequately convey from a prone position. Sure enough, “You know, if you were a flower, you'd be _damn_ delion.” The Bull spun a dandelion between his fingers, as if to demonstrate, and grinned, clearly ridiculously pleased with himself.

 

Dorian groaned and levelled the Bull with his best glare. He'd had plenty of time to perfect it during the course of their... association. The Bull paid it as much mind as he normally did, namely very little. “That is _dreadful_ ,” Dorian announced. “Truly, Bull, your sense of humour might be irredeemable but you should take steps to stop it actively deteriorating. For everyone's sake.” He sniffed. “Besides, it can't have escaped your notice that a dandelion is a weed. You can't expect me to be flattered by the comparison.”

 

The Bull shrugged, infuriatingly casual. “I like them.”

 

“Well, I may admit a single valid point of comparison, then,” Dorian allowed. “I can't say I have ever given them much thought. They were the despair of my mother, I do remember. Forever spoiling her pristine lawns.” His shoulders slumped a fraction and he shook his head. Nostalgia ached sharply in his chest and he hated himself for it. That any recollection could make him think of that house with fondness seemed overly cruel. Everything would be so much easier if there was nothing at all he missed from home.

 

The Bull grunted, in the way he did when he thought whatever you were thinking was complete rubbish but wasn't interested in starting a fight by saying so. And apparently Dorian was keeping a record of the Bull's monosyllabic utterances now. He thought he should be more worried about that than he was. But it shook him out of his thoughts effectively enough. The Bull wasn't looking at him now. He seemed to be engrossed in watching the flower he was still spinning between two fingers. “I like them,” he repeated. “They're stubborn.”

 

Dorian blinked. He had expected the Bull to laugh the whole thing off. Protest it had been for the sake of a bad pun and assure Dorian he was reading too much into it. Not give a serious, if incomprehensible, answer. “I... beg your pardon?”

 

“That might be the wrong word. Resilient, maybe. You see people everywhere, trying to get rid of them. 'Cos they've got something else they want to grow there instead. Or they just hate dandelions, can't appreciate what they've got. But it doesn't usually work, you know. Might knock 'em down for a bit, but then they're back before you know it, just as bright.” A rueful smile tugged at his lips and he shrugged again, a mountainous movement that served to highlight the sheer size of his shoulders and make Dorian regret not pushing for the being pinned down in the grass option, rather than this conversation. “Gotta admire something that can hang on in there like that,” the Bull continued, before falling silent, very deliberately not looking at Dorian.

 

Dorian stared at him as the silence drew out and hung heavy between them. Oh, how he wished the Bull's answer had remained incomprehensible. As it was, it was only too clear the parallels he was drawing. Dorian cursed himself for that blasted comment about his mother. He bit back the urge to make several fast and cutting remarks. He was trying. He struggled for a moment, utterly lost for a response. The Bull didn't seem to find the silence a burden, waiting for Dorian to find the words to break it. Finally, he took refuge in flippancy and the desperate hope the Bull would allow him to pretend they were only talking about flowers. “You've clearly given this a deal of thought. I had no idea you occupied your time so.”

 

The Bull laughed and finally looked at him. “Yeah, well. We have some long marches and, as nice as it is, admiring your ass can't take up all the time.”

 

Since Dorian was a mature adult, not to mention a powerful mage, he refrained from pulling up a handful of grass and throwing it at the infuriating man. Barely. “ _Nice_?” he sniffed. “Bull, my ass is delectable. I vividly recall you saying so, on more than one occasion.”

 

“True,” the Bull said with a fond grin, whether at the memory or at Dorian himself, Dorian couldn't tell. He stretched out his legs in the grass and leaned back on his elbows. Dorian relaxed somewhat, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to soak up the warmth.

 

It was a while before the Bull broke the silence again. “You know, they make wine with dandelions in the South.”

 

“Good grief!” Dorian opened his eyes to try to guess whether the Bull was serious. Not that he would have much chance if the Bull was determined to have him on. “Surely you have to be kidding me.”

 

The Bull's lips twitched but he shook his head. “Nope. We'll ask the Boss to find you a bottle. All that scavenging must’ve turned one up by now.”

 

Dorian shook his head. “Whatever will they think of next.”

 

The Bull hummed a noncommittal noise. “Don't knock it till you've tried it, it's pretty good. The point was though, you take something people want to get rid of, put it in the right place and there it's wanted. Valued.” He was back to not looking at Dorian again.

 

_Dandelions. Keep it about dandelions, not any ridiculous metaphors for your life that have certainly got well away from him by now_. “Sounds ghastly to me,” Dorian managed, fighting to keep his voice light.

 

“Well...” The Bull hesitated and Dorian braced himself. “I guess maybe it takes the right people too. People who can properly appreciate it.”

 

And oh. Oh, that was worse. That was awful. Dorian absolutely did not want to think about who the right people, the right person, for him might be. If such a ridiculous, romantic thing could even exist in this world. He especially did not want to think about who the Bull might have meant by that. He supposed he couldn't doubt that the Bull wanted him. In the basest meaning and in other ways. He sought him out often enough after all. For sex, but for other things too. Just to sit in the sun and tease him this afternoon, it seemed. But he couldn't claim to know if that meant the Bull valued him. A rarer thing that, something he wasn't sure he had ever had in the way he wanted it.

 

Rather than think about _that_ too much, Dorian retreated to superiority. “I think I have to pity them for their appallingly bad taste then,” he forced out in as light and airy a tone as he could produce. He hoped the Bull would drop it, reading him as well as he always did. Of course, that didn't mean he didn't choose to push. Sometimes.

 

It was no revelation to Dorian that he wanted to be loved. He had never denied it to himself. Although the internal voice in which he admitted it had grown steadily more disdainful, matching that of two young men of his acquaintance he had once overheard discussing him at a particularly tedious party. But, it was one thing to want it in the abstract. Safer for being unobtainable, perhaps. Quite another thing to want to be loved by the Iron Bull, in particular. Much more dangerous, until he scarcely dared to want.

 

The Bull gave a noncommittal grunt, said only, “You might be surprised,” and allowed Dorian his escape. Dorian felt a flood of affection for him and bit back what was certainly a horribly fond smile.

 

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Dorian sneaking sideways looks at the Bull, who appeared fascinated by the flower he was still holding. Between one glance and the next, covertly watching the Bull hold the dandelion as if it was something precious, Dorian was struck by the sudden desire to remember the state of the estate's lawns when he had finally fled Tevinter. Had his mother ever succeed in her weed eradication campaign? His actual flight had been at night and he had had many other things on his mind at the time. In the preceding days, however, he had spent enough time staring out of the windows, maintaining the polite fiction that he wasn't being kept prisoner by not attempting to leave again. He honestly could not remember if dandelions had been part of his view. Now, he found himself rather hoping they had been.

 

The Bull eventually broke the silence.“So...” and that tone of voice was back again. Dorian pushed himself back upright with a groan. “If damndelion is out, does that mean you're sticking with hothouse orchid?”

 

Dorian was a powerful, mature and reasonable man. He reminded himself of this, firmly. Several times. “No, it does not,” he insisted. “If I ever lay my hands on whoever let that wretched turn of phrase slip...”

 

“Hey, it's a good one,” the Bull protested, still grinning. “Descriptive.”

 

Dorian groaned. “Do you think we could just forget the flower nicknames altogether? 'Sparkler' I can live with.” Not that he had much choice; Varric's nicknames just stuck somehow.

 

“I guess, if you insist, big guy.” Apparently the sunshine had made the Bull agreeable. That or the dragon. On reflection, it was more likely to have been the dragon. But, as he lay there in the sun with the Bull's breathing only adding to the peace, he wasn't about to argue with the results.

 

Dorian jerked out of the half-doze he had fallen into and snapped his eyes open at the sound of the Bull hissing softly, just in time to catch him rubbing at his bad knee. A motion he stopped the second he noticed Dorian's attention. Dorian frowned. “Bull, you're hovering. Go and do something useful. Like sit by the fire and clean your axe. Last time I saw it, it was still covered in giant.” He wrinkled his nose at the memory.

 

The Bull laughed. “So, you want to watch me polish my weapon, huh?” he asked with a sly grin. Dorian refused to dignify the comment with a response.

 

The Bull clambered slowly to his feet. Dorian almost missed the minute grimace as he first put his weight on his bad leg. “Yeah, I guess that's a good plan,” he conceded. He hesitated for a second, the held out his hand. “Dorian. Here.” Dorian stared at the dandelion the Bull had picked. It wasn't crushed, because the Bull was careful with breakable things. Dorian wasn't sure if he loved or hated that he apparently counted as one of those. Leaning back, he studied the Bull's face for the grin, or even the faint twitch of his lips, that would give away the joke. Haha, dreadfully funny, throw Dorian even further off-balance with a ridiculous gesture. Nothing more meant by it. Not a cruelty; the Bull was never cruel, not intentionally. Just a shared joke, a romantic gesture when they weren't involved in a romance, isn't it _funny_?

 

Except, there was no grin. No twitching lips or one-eyed wink that Dorian could only recognise due to long practice. Nothing at all to indicate it was a joke. In fact, he thought the Bull looked almost nervous. It wasn't a look he saw on him often, but something about his eye and the hunch of his shoulders was familiar. Somehow, it made the Bull look small, despite the way he was towering over Dorian. Dorian had to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat and the urge to incinerate whatever had made the Bull look like that. An unhelpful instinct when he suspected that he was the one to blame.

 

Dorian knew he had been staring for too long. When the Bull shifted his weight, he wished he could just put it down to his leg paining him. Still, he found himself completely unable to do anything. The implications kept him frozen and he dreaded to imagine what showed on his face. It wasn't as if he hadn't been given flowers before. Green carnations, for example, had played a role in a number of the escapades of his younger days. This was not the same. This was.. sweet. But _they_ weren't sweet. Dorian had never thought that sweetness had anything to do with that they were doing. Except... except, the Bull wasn't joking.

 

The slightest downturn of the Bull's mouth was the only warning Dorian had before he made to withdraw his outstretched hand. Dorian moved without thinking, lurching up onto his knees and grabbing the Bull's wrist. His cheeks burned, dark enough to be visible despite his skin tone, he was sure. But the Bull looked hopeful and Dorian couldn't bring himself to regret causing that. The Bull's gaze had a palpable weight as Dorian reached out and carefully plucked the flower from his grasp, giving a self-conscious little shrug to acknowledge the absurdity of the whole exchange.

 

“Thank you, Bull,” he said, his voice remarkably level. The Bull smiled at him, not the grin Dorian had expected but a fond, warm expression that, paradoxically, made him shiver.

 

The silence between them was just becoming uncomfortable when the quiet was shattered by a metallic crash and loud cursing from the direction of camp. They both jerked, reaching for weapons, then relaxed and chuckled as the only further noise was laughter. The Bull rolled his shoulders. “Well... someone should head back. Make sure the Boss doesn't burn dinner again.”

 

Dorian nodded. “A good plan.” He sat back down in the warm grass, his legs curled beneath him. “I'll join you in a little while.”

 

The Bull laughed. “As soon as the sun goes down and you want somewhere warm to sit, sure. I'm onto you, 'Vint.” He softened the accusation with a smile before Dorian could react. “Look forward to it.”

 

Mutual teasing Dorian could do. Much more comfortable territory. “Well, of course you do. It involves the pleasure of my company, after all.”

 

The Bull's gentle smile was back. “Sure thing, Dorian. Be seeing you.” He left with a wave, heading back towards the camp. Leaving Dorian sitting curled up in the grass, staring down at the flower in his hand and without a single distraction for his thoughts. He could still feel the heat in his cheeks and his lips kept trying to slip into a smile without his permission.

 

Slowly, he spun the dandelion between his fingers. Pondered on his conflicted feelings and the possibility of getting exactly what he wanted, this time. Wondered, in a burst of something like terror, whether he might not already have it and just have failed to recognise it. His hands shook with the thought and he clenched his free one around his knee. The one holding the flower he left, somehow unwilling to either release the gift or risk damaging it.

 

He sat there for a long time, until the tremors stilled and he gave up on trying to control his expression, smiling what he was sure was a ridiculously sappy smile. Finally, he shivered and realised he was now sitting in the shade. He briefly debated moving to a sunnier patch of ground but instead collected his book and headed back to camp to find a fire and the Bull to sit beside. The dandelion he deposited carefully in his belt pouch. He would make no assumptions; he knew well enough that led nowhere good. But, all the same, the flower he would keep safe.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, while I was writing this I found out that dandelions represent a wish for happiness and a promise of faithfulness. Which is perfect, really. No promises but I do have an idea for a second chapter involving Dorian learning this fact.


End file.
